Fulton had no little trouble in raising the money for his boat. Livingston contributed the larger share, while Joel Barlow and David Dunham gave the next larger shares. The remainder of the sum was collected among personal friends by personal solicitation, and that was work that tried the soul of the man. The fact that the engine lay on the pier where it was landed for a period of six months because Fulton could not raise the money to pay the freight is significant. [Illustration: Engines of the _CLERMONT_ By courtesy of _American Industries_] The new ship was named _Clermont_, the name of Livingston's home on the Hudson. At noon on Monday, August 17, 1807, she was lying near the old State prison which stood on land now bounded by Washington, West Tenth, West and Charles streets, and thousands of people gathered to gaze at the remarkable vessel because it had been announced that she was to make a trial trip some time during the day. They observed that Brown, the builder, was working at some sails stretched to a mast standing at each end of the hull, although the sails were not set. A man named Maxwell (he had been brought from the shop of the London makers) was tinkering around the boiler--stopping leaks with melted lead, very likely, as he did, at any rate, later. Another man, Van Lea, was adjusting what is called a harpoon gun in the records. Harpoon guns, as the American whalers know them, were not yet invented, but swivels had previously been used for throwing harpoons, and this was, perhaps, such a gun. What it was to be used for is not recorded. The spectators were naturally cynical, and the humorists of the class that in modern days write the jokes for newspapers, shouted to Fulton: "God help you, Bobby!" "Bring us back a chip of the north pole!" "A fool and his money are soon parted!" The small boys whistled, and also yowled like cats. Fulton's correspondence shows that his sensitive soul was cut to the quick. At 1 o'clock, as the start was described by the _Evening Post_, everything seemed ready, and Fulton told Captain Moses Rogers[6] to cast off the lines. The order was given to the engineer, Stevens Rogers, a relative of the captain, to start the machinery. A long blast was blown on a big tin horn as a warning to near-by boats, and then there was a "strange creaking, whirring, churning sound, a hiss of the escaping steam; the awkward-looking wheels, towering full seven feet above the deck on either side, began to turn, and we were really started on the first steamboat voyage on the Hudson." The next moment, however, the spectators saw the machine come to a sudden stop, and, supposing it had failed, they gave a derisive shout. The captain of a passing river-sailing packet sheered his boat close in to the pier line, and "made a sarcastic offer" to "throw us a line and tow us to Albany."